The Pocket Watch
by TheRedPenofDoom87
Summary: Just some adorable Rosealee/Monroe fluffiness in which Monroe presents Rosalee with a small token of his affection.


_It's my first Grimm Fic- be gentle_

_-yeah I know I haven't written anything in years...oh lord...but I've been watching Grimm and I've become fascinated with Monroe and Rosalee. So there might be stuff here and there from me about them. Anyway, enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing at all_

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_"Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies."~ _Mother Teresa

Everyday was choice, Freddie told her a long time ago when every minute was torture and shakes and withdrawls. He told her in a hushed voice as if it were some deep dark family secret: Everyday you have to choose to give in or fight. Some days, it was almost impossible to get out of bed; it would have just been easier to lie there and bury her face in the pillow. But somehow everyday, and Rosalee wasn't entirely sure how, she found herself swinging her legs out of bed and facing the world.

And today she chose to do inventory. Rosalee read through her manifest and then back up at the shelf, checking off the green tea and then the black, the chai, the white , the bergamot (both vanilla and carmel) and the supplies for her herbal mixes. Blueberry, chamomile, chicory, cranberry, ginger...Frowning, she pulled off the tin and popped the lid. It was woefully low. She'd have to dry out some ginger to make her stores last until her supplier was able to deliver. She made a note on her list and moved on to hibiscus, lemon, licorice, peppermint, raspberry.

Rosalee wound around to the back shelves, opening various containers, sniffing for freshness. She made notes a mile long and wide. She never truly appreciated what it took to keep this place running until she found herself sorting through her brother's storeroom and trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces. Once again, her life was shattered into too many shards to put perfectly back together and this time she was on her own.

Perhaps, she realized as the weeks wore on, she was not alone. Surprisingly the Wesen community in Portland welcomed her, though suspiciously at first (She was a Fuchsbau after all, she'd long since accepted the stereotype she'd had to deal with her whole life) . The Eisbebers brought pies and cakes and quilts. They bought boatloads of spices in support, containers of teas. She'd even made a few friends Wesen and human alike. Nick, surprisingly, as well.

Friend. Grimm. And one of her best customers.

Slowly the training she'd gleaned at her parent's sides came back, just like she prayed it would. She remembered her father's steady hands guiding her clumsy attempts at mixing a tincture, she heard her mother's gentle words; the rhymes to help her remember. She found herself repeating them once again, the first time in nearly eight years.

Swallowed up by a great swell of affection for for her surroundings, Rosalee set down her pen, smiling at all the familiarity. The walls around her creaked and settled. Traffic from the street was muted. The shop was everything she almost lost. Everything she was working to re-build. And she would have to face the world every day just like Freddie told her, to be worthy of it.

Judging by light coming in, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket; 6:17 PM. She paused, waited for the bell above the door to jingle. It did. Just like she thought. Dating a clock maker meant one thing she'd never experienced before; timeliness. While it was refreshing, in instances like these it was a little inconvenient. She hadn't even had a chance to do her hair or change or refresh her makeup or anything.

"Rose?" Monroe called. "Rosalee?"

Straightening, Rose brushed the dust from her jeans and blouse. "I'm here," she called. "Just working on some inventory." She laid her clipboard and all her notes on the front counter. But her irritation melted away when she saw him standing there, hands in his pockets, slight half-smile on his face. How could she ever be irritated at him for being on time? Well, three minutes early, actually. But who was counting?

Monroe leaned over the counter for their now customary greeting. But one kiss wasn't enough, Rosalee suddenly decided. She held out for two more. He, of course, happily obliged.

"Good day?" he wondered when they parted.

She shrugged. "Well, you cleaned me out of ginger last week with your sniffles." She patted his cheek affectionately despite her accusatory tone. "I've got to dry out more until my supplier comes through next week."

"I can help," he volunteered. "It's my fault anyway. It only seems fair. By the way, I have something for you." He fiddled around with his jacket pocket before producing a small silver pocket watch on a matching slender chain. Monroe held it out to her.

Clasping it between her hands, she turned it over noting the finely etched compass rose bloom design on both sides. It was small, fitting comfortably in the palm of her hand. "Oh my God..." She breathed as she pressed the little button on top and the lip popped open. The clock face was enameled in bright reds and pinks with elaborate green scroll work around the edges suggesting vines and leaves. It ticked faithfully in her hand. "What? How?"

Monroe shrugged. "I found it at an estate sale a few years ago. The auctioneer didn't have a clue what it was."

"What is it then, Smarty-Pants?" She quipped, poking him in the shoulder playfully.

He smiled. "It was recovered from one of the lifeboats from the Titanic. The internal movement was completely rusted and totally immovable. I had to use all my guys to find the right parts to get it ticking again."

Rosalee turned it over again, feeling the little dings he hadn't been able to fix, the bottom where the shell was scuffed, the new chain put on. "And it's for me?" She asked. "You fixed it up for me?"

"Yeah, I mean if you want it. I'd actually forgotten I had it until a few weeks ago and yah know... Started tinkering around with it again."

She tiptoed around the counter.

He stepped closer, putting one arm around her. "So, do you...?"

"I love it," She grinned up at him. "I just can't believe you did this."

"Well, yeah, of course. I...uh. I saw it and thought of you."

She shook her head in disbelief. "It's so sweet...thank you."

"You're welcome. So, dinner? How do you feel about Peruvian? I know a place a couple of blocks from here."

"Of course." She kissed his cheek. "Help me close up?"

They'd finished up in less than ten minutes and she retreated to her small alcove to grab her purse and keys. "Give me a sec!" She called. "You got here early! I didn't get a chance to get ready."

"I told you I'd be here at 6:20!" He called back.

'Yeah, I know!" She let her hair out of the pony tail and shook it loose. "And to most guys that means 6:45!" She dusted her face with a little bronzer.

"You know I never really understood that."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" She laughed. She grabbed the watch from the rim of the bathroom sink and was about to put it in her bag when she paused to look at this again. She felt the bumps and the scratches from its long past, all its tiny imperfections. And still, he'd fixed it up and made it run again. He poured time and effort into this one piece. For her.

She'd been in this place before. Several times in fact, or at least she thought she had. It was nice at first, this floaty, airy feeling, like her feet refused to touch the ground, when silly little things made her happy. This time, though (and she ran the risk of sounding cliche), it was different. And then she noticed it on the back, close to the bottom. It had been engraved and recently (or she guessed, she really did pay attention when Monroe talked about his work): For RC With Hope.

She looked up herself in the mirror, the pocket watch clutched in one hand for all it was worth, her hair loose on her shoulder and a real smile working its way across her face. Rosalee couldn't remember the last time she was this happy, this content. And suddenly, Rosalee wanted this time to different. And maybe that was it.

Maybe it was not timing or fate or destiny. Maybe it was a choice.

"Rose?" Monroe's voice broke through her reverie. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." She walked back into the shop and realized he'd already shut off the main light. The only light was coming in through the front windows and door cut out. "Yeah. Sorry." She fiddled with her keys, securing the watch in her bag.

"No, what is it?"

Rose placed a hand on his arm. "I've just never had someone do something like this...for me."

"I'm glad you like it." He murmured.

She nodded again and slipped her arms around his neck, let herself go boneless for just a moment against him. He leaned down to kiss her once. Then again. And again.

"You know," she muttered when she rocked back on her heels, breaking contact. "I'm really glad I decided to stay in Portland."

"That's all it takes?" He wondered. "A kiss?"

She disentangled herself from him, smiling. "A watch, Smarty-Pants." She followed him out the door and locked it behind her. She took his offered arm and they disappeared down the city block.


End file.
